


Solitaire

by IguanaDelRey



Category: Persona 4, Persona Series
Genre: Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7264405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IguanaDelRey/pseuds/IguanaDelRey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A father sits in an empty room.</p>
<p>That's how it ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solitaire

A nephew—the son he never had—turned around once more.

The small bedroom that the young man had just stepped out of no longer emanated the clean scent of strawberry air freshener. It no longer presented itself with a sense of cheer, but rather, a sense of haunting timelessness. It remains untouched.

Clean and organized, like the girl who slept here. The only identifiable anomalies were a stack of unfinished storybooks on top of the nightstand. The rubbish bin in the corner hasn't been emptied.

A child's dress eerily lain on the bed hasn't been put away.

Little things like that.

An empty shell of a man sat at the corner, mindlessly fiddling with two pink hair ties. He tied the thin ends around his finger, the same way his daughter taught him years back. As he smiled at the cute ribbons, he undid his repeated efforts and monotonously retied them, hearing her innocent voice giving him instructions all the while. Of course, he wasn't completely out of touch with reality; he noticed Yu throughout the foggy day, but he stubbornly stayed in place and ignored any possible responsibilities.

What good would washing the dishes do?

What good would doing the laundry do?

Nanako took care of those. She wasn't raised to sit around a noticeable mess and _not_ clean it.

The father's chapped lips were clearly moving, yet words weren't spoken. A simple "goodbye, Yu" or "I'll miss you" was nowhere to be heard. His nephew could only watch from afar, his hand tightly gripping on to the strap of the bag that wrapped around his aching shoulder. Inside: a few simple toiletries, some clothes, but most importantly, the train ticket that'll send him away from the man that he can honestly call his own father.

From the very moment they first ate together as a family, he strangely felt more in place than he did back home in the city. His uncle stopped coming downstairs for dinner not too long ago, but Yu always found an empty plate the following day. He won't be able to do that chore for another person for a while.

A quiet apartment housing a lonely teenager, and parents who are almost never around.

One minute passed.

One minute spent staring at a middle-aged man who's just as lonely.

"I.. I'm heading out now, Dojima-san."

An answer was the last thing he was expecting in this state. He merely nodded—a very slight nod that placed a painful weight on the boy's chest. _I miss her too, uncle, but please. Just say something to me. Anything._

He shakily walked back to the man's side one last time to wrap his arms around those familiar, broad shoulders. The tight embrace was unreturned, only adding to the tears that were forming on his gray eyes. His uncle's dirty shirt reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol—a duo of odors he initially despised; now, it's almost comforting. He stayed close and slumped on Dojima's right shoulder.

_Anything._

"..."

Quietly, Yu carefully stood up while wiping off the rest of his tears with his clean sleeves. He picked up his bag off the floor (it somehow felt heavier now) and left without another word. The luggage case he carried with him loudly clanked against the wooden stairs (it somehow took longer going down). The little hallway to the exit was bitter cold as he finally exited, taking with him a glacier of unspoken words.

The foggy walk to the train station began.

**———**

The dim light from the window shone on the hunk of steel on Dojima's calloused hands.

It's never killed anyone.

Sure, it injured a couple of baddies here and there, but never has it taken a life at any point.

Holding it felt painfully nostalgic—a birthday present from Adachi, one that he stupidly decided to give him at a crowded bar. It earned him a very painful, very red mark on the back of his pale neck. The birthday boy said thank you the next morning, along with an apology, and then a harsh lecture.

With the revolver in his hand, Dojima stood up while simultaneously loading a random slot with a single bullet. He trudged out of his daughter's room and closed the door behind him.

The safety was off. "I'm sorry, Yu."

The muzzle was pointed at the side of his head. "I'm sorry, Nanako."

He took a deep breath.

He closed his eyes, then pulled the trigger.

***click***

And.. Nothing. _Again._

Dojima unenthusiastically tossed the gun aside, hearing it skid across the other side of the hallway as he dragged himself downstairs. The couch was as comfortable as ever. He sighed on top of the cushion and rubbed his pulsing forehead after taking out his phone.

[To: Narukami, Yu]  
[From: Dojima, Ryotaro]  
[Say hi to your folks for me. Ill miss you]

Mere seconds flew by before a response was received.

[I will. Thank you for everything, uncle.]


End file.
